


song like you • acca: 13-ku kansatsu-ka

by alistaira (Velairena)



Category: ACCA13区監察課 | ACCA 13-ku Kansatsuka
Genre: Angst, Bea Miller - Freeform, F/M, M/M, Multi, Songfic, fem!jean/nino would work, nino appreciation fic, there is actually no mention of oc name so don't worry, why there no ninoxoc fics??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-12 21:22:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10499718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velairena/pseuds/alistaira
Summary: 「a song like you is a whispered lullaby, drowned out by a baby's cry,」the countless stars and the innumerable hours come and pass—in the end, the two of you can only walk parallel lines; you were pygmalion and he was your finest masterpiece. forever only a hairbreadth away, yet unreachable all the same..or in which you could just say fuck fate and elope with him instead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know how this happened: don't blame me.
> 
> it's another one of those angst-w/-unrealistic-hppy-ending one shots i happen to like. 
> 
> on god why am i writing this like seriously.
> 
> p.s my html isn't really good and i didn't have a long of time on my hands because of school ( i use really wanted to write something for ninoxreader ) so please don't mind the awkwardly long block quotes xD

 [song like you • bea miller](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ybRvJ1CKbJw)

 

 

> _( a song like you is a ripple of the waves, that rises to a_
> 
> _hurricane. )_

 

 i. 

A crane and a crow.

It is he who was supposed the catalyst, and you, the temperance.

Instead, it is the opposite.

You will ruin him one day: you both know that. But still, he flocks to you as a chick would to its mother, orbits around you as moon would a planet, drawn to you by a magnetic impulse he does not even try to resist. You let him anyway. Even after the fingers that don't quite reach, the hands that never quite touch, and the gazes that never part: you let him. 

Who is the catalyst, you sometimes wonder?

Who will become the harbinger of the inevitable storm?

Who, will be the one ruined in the end?

You— who seeks nothing more than to see the smiling faces of your family as they live in peace and away from the world of those that want to tear it apart. Or, he; the man who is unwilling to see himself as anything else than a tool, always afraid that with one wrong step, he will push away the only family he ever knows, the only people he's ever loved?  

And by the end of this; when the moon collides with its planet, would it be he, or you that draws the line? You do not know.

Nor care. 

 

ii.

He has become so crucial in your life that you cannot even remember the days without him. 

A drug. An addiction to watch the impending doom make its fall that you wish you didn't have even during those nights of sweet nothings and mornings of blithe smiles and tangled limbs.

Oh. 

 _Oh,_ you realize it one morning. One of the few that you manage to wake up before he is gone and all that's left of him is the faint musk of the wilderness and something that is so utterly  _him_ and that photograph of your face the previous day; he always manages to take one before he leaves. Your lips curve into a faint smile, something that is rare and untraceable even for someone like him. 

Tragedy had struck.

You had fallen in love with a man who has never been in love with himself.

 

iii.

He is a hurricane. He is unpredictable and unattainable. He is the undried paint buried beneath a thickened cover of splattered ones that you must first reveal out the true painting of after all those other unnecessary strokes and messy splatters.

 

iv.

You discover why he watches.

Of why that gaze upon your back is so familiar each time you are with the innocent and naive Lotta.

 

v.

You are not surprised.

Secrets are a foundation of human existence. Ah, but it stung. For the very fact that he did not tell even you: his only other connection to the outer world than those he is supposed to protect.

He is an awful, awful man, you think.

But perhaps he will be the one to win in the end: poison your heart with the same bitterness that contaminated his. Already poised to take in this dance with his dagger raised and his smile poisonous. But that is not like him. For you know that even if he is not in love with you, he will never have the heart to become the undoing of one of the only few people who has come to accept him as someone who is not a tool: even if he is the only one who denies that to be true. 

 

vi.

You are elected to the Privy Council that fall after you discover his truth. 

It is a cold autumn. One that has Dōwā covered in blankets of white and wailing winds that haunt you during nights in a bed that is not your own, and someone who was never yours in the first place; so you spent nights watching the cold breeze outside the colorful, ornamental panes of the glass window with a cup of coffee in your fingers and a frozen heart beside the crackling hearth that only accents the shadow inside the unfamiliar room more.

 

Was this how he had always felt?

 

It is an acidic, welting storm.

One you knew you would eventually become your only companion in the world you are about to face.

 

~

 

【一】 

Days become weeks, and weeks to months; eventually years past. 

You spent your hours in the castle of illusory dreams and vile aristocrats and cunning royals, the days you are lucky enough to get out of Dōwā are but into clutches of more vipers that seek the same as those in the so-called 'castle' you have escaped. The times oversea are spent under the heavy aroma of overbearing perfume, puffy balls gowns, crumpled suits, and hastily scribbled signatures by heavy fountain pens.

And eventually; even the desire to see whether or not that messy mop of navy hair was among the sea of people you face disappears, same with the memories of nights spent under low ceilings of ritzy apartments and beneath the covers of cotton instead of high, arched and decorated of jewels and gold, and duvet blankets of silk and swan feathers. 

Your colourful world is fading, slowly becoming the monochrome words and letters stacked together on the paperwork you so despised.

Gradually, your days' summaries into the unchanging routine; abiding into days that consisted only of the bitter taste and color of the caffeine you would've never had in a past lifetime; crippling migraines and burning, glassy eyes from staring at blank sheets. 

The only highlights of your days were the times you were able to physically  _see_ the people your suffering helped—

Of the poverty-stricken children who were finally able to get a decent meal at least twice a day and laugh and stuff their faces contentedly with an entire bun of bread. Of men and women who would no longer have to stay out in the harsh weathers of the poorer districts so that they and their families could continue to the next day. 

And for the sole reason of the fact that you would never wish to see your own in a state such as those poor souls, you continued on. Believing that one day, if they— if maybe even  _he_ would ever end up like them. You would be able to change their fate.

And so, you walked on.

 

【二】

Winter comes, spring goes. Soon, it's summer— you think.

Had it already been so long since you had come to Dōwā? 

How long had it been since you'd last been  _home?_

Was  _home_ still someplace that could be called  _home_ _?_

Were your family people you could still be called  _family?_

You wonder.

You still do.

You had yet to receive an answer.

【三】

Among the swell of dark-haired individuals of Bādōn, you think you see a familiar glint of the honey-blonde that was a familiarity only to Dōwā, perched on the usual spot in a café you visited practically daily when you were a teenager.

But then— that honey-blonde fades to a chestnut-brunette, so you stare for a moment longer, blinking to rid yourself the flashbacks in the city you knew like the back of your hand, shake your head and continue to brave the crowd of all the enthusiastic and passionate young adults that Bādōn never seemed to be lacking.

Yet, even with the swath of people around you, you have never been lonelier.

It felt as if you were but one small fish fighting against the current of a pod of orcas. And that you were carrying the weight of the world as Atlas had; and sinking. Sinking into the depths of an ocean you could not see the light even upon its surface.

 

【四】

You return to your room back in Dōwā long after the street lights are lit and the people have begin dispersing.

It is just as pale and bare and utterly lifeless as it had been when you first entered, so many years ago; even the bedsheets you have not bothered to tidy this morning are folded neatly by the maids employed by the king.  Everything is clean save for your messy desk that is the guilt of fountain pens and half-empty ink bottles alongside the scattered yellow parchments and red seals that clutters the dark, cheery wood.

You open the window to let the freshened night air; devoid of the hushed murmurs of the public and the gasoline of honking cars to drive away the poisonous remainders of your hours of mindless guilty pleasures.

Stepping out into the balcony, you light a cigarette, closing your eyes and suddenly grateful for the silence that lessened the strain on your sensitive ears, you finish your smoke and step back inside. Your shirt crumpled and sleeves rolled up, getting ready to finish your overtime that was needed to finish your paperwork.

 

【五】

Somehow, _somehow,_ by some strange tangle if fate Lotta manages to catch you on your last night in Bādōn.

Beaming with the zeal and brimming with the enthusiasm as she had ever since when you knew her as a child, you could not help but to humor her: staring at the features of the child you had adored all your life and all the resemblances to someone you hold dear at heart, also someone that the King himself had loved enough to free of her golden cage.

The afternoon is filled of bright giggles and sundaes and beaming smiles, gruff chuckles and more than several harsh words on why you were MIA for so many years; all of which you had predicted.

Yet never in your years expected her to become this sly—

Hiding her cherub smile behind her teacup, she asks: " _Nino and I are having dinner together tonight. Wanna join? We all missed you._ "

Your mouth drops open and you wonder where the little girl who you used to teach how to make flower crowns and daisy chains and keeps from falling on her skates with an angelic smile went.

But she, however, only smiles and laugh until your quivering lips burst into more alongside her.

And for the first time in years; you could feel that powerful, volcanic urge thrumming inside your veins and pushing away the ashes and fallen stars you've been rummaging all those time.

 

【六】

However, no one hears the click of a camera from a window of a bricked building across the cafe and a flash of a head of navy hair.

 

_( a song like you_

_would have me_

_lost in my_

_youth, )_

 

{un}

" _Ne, Nino. Did you know I saw—"_

A tidal wave, and cold water dripping down his spine at the name he had not heard in a long, long time.

Really, all he wanted was only a warm bath, a hot dinner and a soft bed after that ruckus in Suitsu and the fact that the brakes of his motorcycle had failed suspiciously while he was getting back to Bādōn. But this... Really. A part of his even wonders how Lotta even managed to catch one of Dōwā's most high profiled politicians in a café. 

He shakes his head.

 _Indeed_ ; Lotta was someone who had grown up under your care.

 

{deux}

The wine had been sweet, which made the headache the morning after all the more worse. Migraines and the effects of liquor had brought back the memories of his decades before you had been elected onto the Privy Council. 

Though it was a fitting end, he supposed.

For the two of you were like a tale of the divine and a mortal. And the mortal man who was so weak and breakable who was enchanted the second he saw the beauty of the angel and thirsted only for the angel's love and nothing else. And when he had finally received what he sought for all his life. He became blinded by the angel's love and for nothing else: eventually becoming a ruin of a man, a shadow of who he was before.    

 

Those violent delights and violent ends, he mused. For the man who loved a serpent and you, who loved a man who could never love even himself.  

_These violent delights have violent ends_

_And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,_

  _Which, as they kiss, consume. The sweetest honey_

 _Is loathsome in his own deliciousness_  

 

 _And in the taste confounds the appetite._

 _Therefore love moderately. Long love doth so._

 _Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow._

{trois}

The two of you had spent the better part of a decade without seeing each other, but there is a familiar gaze on your back in Bïrra. One that you knew had something to do with him and Lotta spilling the beans. For the first time in years, the cold storm of snow does not bother you. And that bed in the hotel; of low ceiling and rough cotton sheets that bore resemblances of the haven you never thought you would be able to return to.  

 

You chug down a bottle of brandy and leaves the coffee; left half-full in your mug to cool into the night. 

_Oyasumi._

Good night,

_Nino_.

 

{quatre}

The soft jazz of piano, brass instruments and a low alto female solo vibrates through the dim atmosphere of the tiny cafe. The decoration quaint and antique. Each wall and table arranged acutely into vintage styles of each of the thirteen districts. The waitress leads you to a seat by the window on the second floor, and you glance outside to the cloudy skies and the yellow sun. The raindrops sliding down the plain windows and the almost grey-figured people rushing to get out of the rain. It looked ordinary...

As did you; a lone figure by a glass window staring out into the rain; looking as if you were a youth who was searching for something new and interesting to do and fulfill your teenage dream.

You had left for Kororë in the morning, at the request of yet another face you had not seen... In a while. 

" _Well isn't this a surprise. You're not late for once._ "

Dark trench coat and clicking high heels. Lustrous hair and a pair of scrutinizing magenta eyes that takes you back to the days when you were a part of ACCA.

Mauve.

Dropping a wrapped box of chocolate on the table in front of you carelessly and draping her dark jacket onto the back of the chair, she settles down across from you.

You smile. " _You never change, partner_."

 

{cinq}

It is snowing in Dōwā.

It is _always_ snowing in Dōwā when you return.

You sigh. There is no peace for the wicked; not even if the devil is only a wayfarer seeking to rest.

Yet, the snowflakes fall as would the leaves do during the Autumns in Bādōn, and you find some peace in seeing the intricate, crystalline designs unravel from the sky into the more of the powdery white.

The main street looks like an unfinished painting; much covered in white waiting for the masterful hands of the artist to return — grey cobblestones half covered in white alongside the windows of colourful shops that stretched along both sides of the street. The skies were clear, unriddled with clouds and the sun shone still, yet hidden, as the snow continued to fall. 

You stop in front of one of the display windows of a bakery. 

Yukinotama. 

You stand there, quietly contemplating. You haven't gotten Lotta anything from Dōwā yet, even after all these years you'd been here. Besides, it'd be her birthday soon...

" _Looking for_ _something to bring_ _back for Lotta?_ " 

A familiar baritone voice chucked.

Breath pale against the numbing air, your eyes are wide, staring at the figure in a black sweater, surrounded by the falling snow. 

" _Nino._ "

 

{six}

The golden bell of the bakery you glanced at yesterday rings to announce he and your entrance. 

The sweet-faced waitress smiles at the two of you and begins to inform you of the different flavours of Yukinotama's there were. You pick the vanilla one just to spite him; you lips twitching as he frowns at your choice. You glance away and move one with the waitress to choose another dessert by the flavour of tea and mocha until your voice breaks the silence.

" _What's with all the_ _commotion?_ "

The waitress only smiles. " _The King is visiting today. He visits this bakery regularly; we are honoured to be of service._ "

He returns to your side. " _The cake here is very authentic._ " He winks.

You raise an eyebrow. " _Strange. I was never informed of this._ "

A gasp comes from the waitress beside you. " _Councillor_ _!_ "

You turn to her, your visage alit with surprise. " _I'm surprised you recognize me_." You said, amused. " _Most people can't differ me from a regular crowd when I'm not wearing my uniform._ "

To your surprise, she seemed angry. " _That's ordinary people! I could recognize you from a million miles away, Councillor! You are one of Dōwā's_ _saviours. If it weren't for you, a lot of the poorer citizens living in this nation would have withered away long ago, such as myself!_ " 

Ah, that tax cut you proposed to the Senate when you'd been first. You remembered seeing children beaming with joy and delight at getting even only a semi-warm meal of canned dishes on a plain, and half-dirty plate. The smiling mothers even when their children, some even toddlers received clothes the barest of threads. Your hands tremble, but all you do is smile at her visage, alight with awe and respect.

He gives you a look when the two of you walk out.

" _Didn't know you were so popular, Councillor_." His initial words are curious, but soon turns teasing when he sees your state.

Because you didn't take your jacket off when you entered the warm café, they sullied of any warmth when you came out. 

Biting his grin away, he takes his scarf off and wraps it around your neck, all the while leaning into you with the mischievous glint in his eyes that made nervous and remember your teenage days of doing stupid things with him. 

Laughing quietly, he walks off into the now bellowing wind and snow, hands stuck in his pocket while you blinked stupidly, still unable to process the rich cologne on his scarf, and what had happened moments before.

 

~

[one]

It's spring again before you're called out of Dōwā. The day before you leave, you find a bouquet of yellow tulips on your desk addressed from Lotta, thanking you for the Yukinotama's, while curled around the stems of each of the freshly blooming blossoms are pictures of her reaction receiving the Dōwā dessert. 

The black scarf is hung on the back of your fern green chair, the dark wool uncreased and devoid of crinkles; exactly as you had instructed the maid to make. 

You wouldn't need it at where you were going. 

Furawau was a nation of self-acclaimed angels and flowers.

Well, you smile. It's not like that would stop _him_.

 

[two]

The scream of your name rips through his lips just as the bullets fired from the pistols. You turn, eyes wide, then close them and expect the pain of the gunshots to hit you; body already curving into the protection of a fetal position that has been drilled into your body.

The beating of light footsteps that differed from the heavy stomping of your bodyguards (those useless lumps of meat and muscle) almost made you open your eyes again but you could hear,  _hear_ the wind and rush of the bullet and braced yourself—

Only to gurgle out a strangled gasp as the body you loved so well slamming into you and the two of you hit the ground headfirst with you uninjured save for light cuts on your unblemished visage and him.

_Him_.

A hand seizes the beat of your heart and your eyes are wide and you can't think.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood.

He is bleeding.

_Nino_ is bleeding.

 

[three]

The air that clouds your mind is of grief and lamentation. 

The hospital room is as devoid of beauty as you are of hope, you cough at the bitter sting of disinfectant and bleach; it's decor plain and void of colours, reminding you of your own _home_ and the wilting yellow tulips that sit on your desk. 

Gently, you placed down the blue lilies you had bought from a small garden you found on the way to the hospital, before settling down by his side. 

Your fists clench as you hear his laboured breaths and the sight of sweat that dot his brows. 

Place two of your fingers to your lips, you gently touched his mouth with them and rose, then left quietly.

" _You fool. You're a walking disaster."_

 

[four]

The gaze on your back is gone. 

The colour that has begun dulling again, even with the frequent visits you now let Lotta pay you for the sake of her own safety as well as yours. Tonight is one of the rare that it is you who goes to see her, instead of the other way around. And bless her heart, for trying to make up for the space that he has left behind. 

Honestly, you had never been a very emotional person and lacked theatrics. However, you were charismatic when you needed to be — the result of your successful election. But you were never to have 'fun' as did he and Lotta. 

Your definition of fun was to tune into the latest talk shows of the politics or go to a quiet jazz café and read. So it was always one of them two dragging you around. Honestly, you would've probably dug your own grave long ago if you hadn't met Schnee. And you probably wouldn't have stayed afloat if not for him and Lotta.

But it simply wasn't the same, you thought; making your way down a dark sidewalk by the river. 

It simply wasn't the same without that exotic haired man shadowing the two of you as she dragged your along, holding his cameras and wearing a mysterious smile and wisdom in his dark eyes. 

You take a drag of your cigarette, feeling the nicotine calm your system and the heavy-scented smoke filling your nostrils.

" _You know, that it's a dangerous habit, right?_ " His glasses are perched on his head, and he is limping. 

But Nino is alive and he is right in front of you. And for a moment, you are so relieved that you cannot even breathe: your feet stuck to the ground, your eyes wide and the pale smoke trailing out of your opened mouth slowly and the alcohol burning in your veins.

He hums. " _Well, it's not like I know any better._ " He gives you a smirk.

 

_Wisely, and slow. They stumble that run fast._

_For never was a story of more woe_

_Than this of Juliet and her Romeo._

 

[five]

You know the two of you will regret this, but you do not care.

The heat of his mouth on your skin, raspy moans, the crumpled, roughness of his sweater clenched into your fist, the bitter taste of the wine and the flush of you and him.

His glasses are on the floor, your hair is tangled.

His fingers are long and calloused while yours smooth save for the blister on your index finger from holding pens. The two of your stumble and his limp makes the you both fall onto his bed, one that you are as familiar with as your own; with its light sheets and pillows, it's low ceilings and colourful, thoughtful decor.

His shirt buttons are undone and yours are already sliding off of your shoulders. 

" _You say I'm a walking disaster,_ " his voice is hoarse against your neck, his hands is on your hip, nails digging into the pale flesh, your fingers — the ones that had touched his lips in Furawau — feels the rugged edges of his scars on his back.

" _But you, you're a fucking **hazard**._ "

  

[six]

The freshness of the morning seeps into your bones, the drowsiness does not hide the memories of the night prior, nor does a pounding headache that no longer made you wince. Looking around, you realize his apartment had not changed at all from the time you'd been gone. It was still the same from when you were teenagers, and then after you had become adults.

You shift and untangle your limbs, leaning down from the bed and grasping the shirt, no longer crisp after last night and pulled it on. While he stirs — barely, and you smile fondly at the navy mop of hair against the white sheets and the stretched limbs, the smell of his cologne in the air, and the soft music seeping through the windows from the street below. 

His eyelids flutter, then open to reveal azure eyes that crinkled alongside the curve of his lips. 

You lean towards him, and unlike before; instead of your fingers and a heavy heart. You press your lips to Nino's own and feel  _him._  

 

 

> A distaster and a hazard,
> 
> A moon and a sun.
> 
> A love that defies nature;
> 
> A crane and a crow,
> 
> A song  _like you_.

**Author's Note:**

> OMAKE:
> 
> Lotta steps in to the apartment quietly, peering at Nino's empty living room and kitchen curiously. It was devoid of the aroma of coffee and clicking of plates or any of the sounds that were usually associated with morning. Besides, Nino couldn't sleep super late and wake up super early, he was human, too, after all.
> 
> She pouts. And she woke up so early just to catch him!
> 
> "Nino," she calls, making her way to the closed bedroom door — another rarity that was out of place for someone like Nino. 
> 
> "Nino," she calls again, cocking her head and rapping the door; once, twice, no one answered. 
> 
> Was there a burglar? She wonders briefly. Then shakes her head, Nino wouldn't just let a burglar get in and then let them get away with it. Pushing open the door quietly; "Ne, have you seen—"
> 
> She let's out a soft gasp as she sees the two figures curled into each other on the bed. Smiling, as she reaches for Nino's camera on the bedside table— careful of his glasses, that was still on the floor and all the other strayed clothing. 
> 
> She takes a picture and makes sure to leave the note she wrote on the side of the camera. 
> 
> Lotta grins. 
> 
> It was about time anyway.


End file.
